


Aftermath

by AutisticWriter



Category: The Fast Show
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Bob is a Good Friend, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friendship, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, One Shot, Swearing, Tourette's Syndrome, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Bob Fleming struggles to rationalise what has happened when his friends Jed and Clive are badly hurt in a homophobic hate crime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Jed and Clive's names are very confusingly muddled up in the sketches. So I have decided to go with the names they were given in the Bob Fleming's Country favourites sketch.

Bob feels awful as he walks into the green room behind the set of ‘Country Matters’ and sees Jed and Clive, because they look even worse than he had expected them to look. He thinks back to the phone call he’d had with Jed the evening before:

_“Hello?” Bob said blearily into the phone._

_He was in bed for an early night, and had nodded off whilst sitting up and trying to read. He felt half asleep as he held the phone to his ear, but he quickly woke up when he heard the fear in the other person’s voice._

_“Hi, Bob, it’s Jed.”_

_“It’s a bit” – COUGH – “late, isn’t it Jed?” He said, glancing at the clock. It was ten at night._

_“Yes, I know, but, ARSE! . . . you see, we’re up at the ARSE! hospital, Clive and me.”_

_After a massive coughing fit, Bob managed to gasp out, “What’s happened?”_

_Jed’s voice was shaking, and it was obvious to Bob that he was in a fair bit of pain, as well as upset. “These arseholes didn’t like us ARSE! holding hands when we were coming out of the ARSE! cinema . . . and, ARSE! they beat . . . they beat us up.”_

_“Bloody hell!” Bob said, coughing._

_“It’s not that ARSE! bad, Bob . . . Clive’s just having some ARSE! stitches done. We’re still all right to ARSE! do the show tomorrow.”_

_“You don’t have to” –COUGH— “you know. You can have a break to—”_

_“No, Bob, we’re really ARSE! fine, really,” there was a sense of urgency in Jed’s voice, and Bob didn’t want to argue with him in case he got upset._

_Coughing, he said, “Well, if you say so, Jed. I hope you both feel a lot better soon.”_

_“Thanks, Bob.” Jed said, and he hung up._

Now he thinks about it, it’s clear that Jed was downplaying their injuries. He wishes that Jed had just told him the truth, because he wishes he could have been more help, or maybe visited them up in Accident and Emergency, or something.

A loud cough that he fails to suppress alerts Jed and Clive to his presence. They both smile when they see him, but there isn’t really much for them to smile about.

“Hello, Robert,” Clive says, awkwardly getting to his feet.

He has a black eye, a gash across the bridge of his nose, a deep black bruise on his cheek, and what looks like several stitches in a cut on his chin. But what alarms Bob the most is that Clive’s lower right arm is in a plaster cast; his wrist is obviously broken. He limps as he stumbles towards Bob, his good arm outstretched.

“Hello, Clive,” Bob says after coughing for about five seconds. “Please, sit down.”

“Thank you,” sounding relieved, Clive sits back down, wincing as he does so, and Bob just wants to hug him.

Jed doesn’t even bother trying to get up. Judging by the pair of crutches resting against the sofa, he’s obviously hurt his leg quite badly, but it doesn’t look broken, which is something. His face looks much better than Clive’s, but he still has a nasty bruise on his chin.

“Hello, there, Bob,” he says, smiling weakly.

“Hello, Jed,” Bob says, coughing. “What’re the crutches for?”

“Busted knee, Bob,” Jed says. “Got a nice kick to the ARSE! side of the knee. It ARSE! gave way and caused ARSE! soft tissue damage.” He says it in a very matter of fact way, but his voice is shaking. Clive takes his hand and squeezes it. Bob winces as he thinks about what must have happened to Jed.

“Are you two” –COUGH— “Well enough to do the show today?”

After sneezing, Clive says, “Of course we are, Robert.”

“But, don’t you want a . . . rest?”

“No, Robert, really,” Clive says, trying to sound firm, but having the effect ruined by his shaking voice. He sneezes again, and winces, his face tensing up. “We want to do it. It’ll be good to take our minds off of what happened.”

Jed nods firmly. “That’s what I ARSE! was trying to tell you on the phone, but ARSE! I couldn’t find the words to explain it.”

Bob feels his eyes stinging, and has to blink hard to fight back the sudden tears that want to escape his eyes. He swallows hard and forces himself to smile.

“Well, then,” he says, coughing, “let’s get down to makeup.”

\---

Despite annoying Nick, the producer of ‘Country Matters’, with his coughing (which he, Jed and Clive all agreed hadn’t seemed like much of a problem to them), Bob thinks the taping went rather well. It was slightly marred by the fact that Clive’s constant sneezing was hurting his various injuries, but he thinks they all coped quite well.

After everything is done at the studio, Bob takes Clive and Jed down the road to their favourite pub, having to walk very slowly while Clive limps and Jed struggles on his crutches. It makes Bob feel horrible to see his friends suffering.

Once they arrive at the pub, Clive helps Jed sit down, resting his crutches on the floor, and Bob gets them each a pint of beer.

“Thanks, Robert,” Clive says, clumsily lifting his glass with his non-dominant, left hand.

“Thank you, Bob,” Jed says. His hand spasms (hand spasms are one of his physical Tourette’s syndrome tics) as he picks up his pint, and the glass slips, spilling a large amount of it over the table. “Shit!”

Clive chuckles, and it’s good to see him laugh. But then it must hurt one of his injuries, maybe one on his chest, and he winces. Jed gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“You clumsy bastard,” Clive says thickly, giving Jed’s shoulder a squeeze in return. Jed smiles.

Bob smiles too. He loves watching his two friends interact. They’re so sweet together, and it makes his chest hurt to think that someone has hurt them.

\---

They spend about an hour chatting about mundane stuff, but, after four pints, Bob starts to think about their injuries again. And, maybe because he’s drunk, he now thinks that asking them about what happened might not be such a bad idea.

Coughing, Bob smiles awkwardly at his friends. “Do . . . you want to tell me what happened? You don’t” –COUGH— “Have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it might help, but . . .”

He watches as Jed and Clive glance at each other, and hopes he hasn’t crossed a line. But then Jed takes a deep breath and starts to speak.

“Well, Bob,” Jed says, avoiding Bob’s eyes as he speaks, his slur, combined with his verbal tic, making it difficult for Bob to understand what he’s saying. “It’s mostly what I ARSE! told you about on the ARSE! phone. These arseholes saw us ARSE! holding hands outside the ARSE! cinema, and they didn’t ARSE! like it.”

“We’d just come out of the cinema when they saw us holding hands. They called us poofters and chased us,” Clive says slowly, not slurring as badly as Jed (he’s only had three pints, whereas Jed’s had five). He sneezes and then winces, putting his hand on his sore face. “We tried to run, but we weren’t fast enough. They were younger than us and faster than us and . . . They caught us . . . and started hitting us.”

Clive sniffs and stares down at his beer. His hands are shaking. Shuffling his chair closer to Clive’s, Jed puts his arm around him and they lean the sides of their heads together. Bob leans across the table and gives Clive’s hand a squeeze. Clive’s eyes are looking rather damp.

“It’s all right,” Jed whispers, and Clive smiles weakly. “We’re ARSE! safe here.”

Clive sneezes again, and wipes his nose on his sleeve, a pained expression crossing his face.

“It was just so scary, Robert. It hurt so much, and I was so scared that they were going to k-kill us, they were punching and kicking us so hard.” Clive says, his voice breaking, his head still leaning against Jed’s. “And then, just like that, they stopped and ran away, laughing.” He sneezes again, wincing. “We just wanted to go home, but Jed couldn’t walk, and my head was spinning from where they’d hit me.”

“Luckily, someone else coming out of the ARSE! cinema saw us and called an ARSE! ambulance. I was in the waiting room in a wheelchair waiting for X-ray results when ARSE! I phoned you.”

Coughing, Bob looks at his friends, wondering if he’s going to cry. “I don’t know what to say. You poor bastards. It’s just not fair. Since when was holding hands a crime?”

“For homophobes, Robert,” Clive says slowly, looking straight into Bob’s eyes. He sneezes, but doesn’t wince this time, “it’s always been a crime.”

Bob sighs, knowing that Clive is absolutely right. He still doesn’t know what to say.

“The stupid thing is,” Clive says, his voice getting thicker as he sneezes again, making his nose run, “I thought I’d be used to this by now. We’ve been together for thirty years,” he sneezes yet again, “and this isn’t the first time this’s happened.”

“Yeah, but this was ARSE! the first time we’ve been beaten up this ARSE! side of 1980, Cli,” Jed says, and Clive smiles as he uses a nickname that Bob heard fairly frequently. “People are more ARSE! accepting these days. At least, I thought they were.” Jed smiles sadly, looking down at his lap.

Clive rubs Jed’s back, leaning their heads together again.

“I know,” he says softly.

\---

At nine in the evening, they decide they should probably get home, before it gets too dark. The three of them make their way, slowly, to the front door of the pub, Bob holding Clive’s arm as he sees him wobble on his feet. Jed walks behind Bob, his crutches making clicking noises as they touch the wooden floor. Bob feels wobbly thanks to the alcohol he has consumed, but he feels better when Clive opens the door, and the cool evening air hits his flushed cheeks.

He goes to walk forwards, only to crash into Clive’s back. A second later, Jed collides with his own back, almost knocking them both over.

“Clive? What’s the matter?” Bob asks, coughing.

He doesn’t get an answer.

“Clive?” Jed says from behind Bob.

Bob, concerned, steps to the side and takes a step forwards, and takes a look at Clive. He doesn’t look good. In fact, he looks awful. He’s frozen to the spot, but Bob can see his hands shaking. His eyes are far too wide and fixed on something straight ahead of him. Bob can hear his jagged breathing. Clive is clearly terrified, and Bob doesn’t know why.

“Clive?” He says, putting a hand on Clive’s arm.

Clive jumps, but relaxes slightly when he realises it’s only Bob.

“We, we need to get inside,” Clive whispers, his voice shaking violently.

“Clive, what’s the ARSE! matter?” Jed says.

Bob steps forwards again so he’s stood in front of Clive on the pavement, and Jed follows him. Balancing awkwardly on his good leg, Jed reaches out for Clive’s hand, but Clive pulls his hand away, trembling.

Jed looks where Clive is looking, and, suddenly, he looks terrified too. “Fuck.”

Bob looks at them both. “What’s the matter? I don’t” –COUGH— “understand.”

Now he’s scared too, Jed’s tics are starting to get worse (they always get worse when he’s stressed). His fingers are twitching every few seconds, and, every time he says ‘ARSE!’ (far more than usual), his head jerks so violently to the side it looks like it must hurt his neck.

“Please tell me how to help,” Bob says, but neither of them gives him an answer.

Getting inspiration, Bob looks where both Jed and Clive are staring with wide, frightened eyes, and sees what they must be looking at. On the other side of the road stands a gang of five young men, all of them wearing hoodies and laughing loudly. They are the sort of men Bob would feel threatened to walk by, because they look bloody scary.

And then it suddenly makes sense. These men must be the men who attacked his friends last night! Bob feels a bit sick.

“Get back inside,” he says, coughing, trying to keep his voice soft. “It’s all right, I understand.”

Jed and Clive look at him. They both try to smile, but they look so scared they end up grimacing instead. Slowly, Jed starts to hobble back towards the door, but Clive still doesn’t look able to move. His legs are trembling.

“Clive?” Bob says.

Clive lets him take hold of his arm, and Bob slowly leads his wobbly friend back towards the door. It takes a while, but they manage to get back inside the pub. Bob leads Clive to a table right at the back, where Jed has already collapsed into a chair, and is sitting hunched forward, looking totally dazed. Bob helps Clive sit down beside Jed, who immediately takes his hand. Clive covers his face with his free hand; Bob hears his breathing shudder, and he wonders if he is crying.

“That was bloody ARSE! horrible,” Jed mutters. His hand is spasming violently.

Clive doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head slightly.

After coughing, Bob says, “You’re right about that, Jed.”

Jed looks at Clive. His face crumples like he’s about to start crying, but he manages to stay in control of his emotions. “Clive?”

“Hmm?” Clive murmurs into his hand, his voice muffled.

“Are you ARSE! crying?”

Even though his body language tells Bob that he doesn’t want to, Clive moves his hand from in front of his face. His face is slicked with tears, which are leaking from his eyes. His bottom lip is trembling. Seeing Clive cry makes Bob’s chest hurt.

“Cli,” Jed says softly, his voice sounding like his heart is breaking. “Don’t cry.”

Without saying anything else, Jed wraps his arms around his partner, pulling him into a careful hug. Clive leans his head against Jed’s, sobbing softly. He sneezes violently, and that makes him cry harder.

“Sorry,” Clive says thickly, his nose running. “I was j-just so scared.”

“I know, I know,” Jed says, rubbing Clive’s head with his shaking hand, running his fingers through his hair.

\---

Ten minutes later, just when Clive, Jed and even Bob (who isn’t as stressed as the other two, but still feels rather freaked out) are beginning to relax and calm down, when, to Bob’s horror, he sees something that makes him wish he could be anywhere else.

He looks up as the door of the pub opens, trying his best to suppress a tickly cough, and sees the worst possible thing he can: the gang of young men walking through the door. His eyes must widen, because Jed is suddenly staring at him, clearly alarmed.

“Bob? What’s ARSE! wrong?” He asks, and his hand spasms as it rests on the table.

Bob, worried about what might happen if the gang of men see Jed and Clive after what happened last night, subtly shakes his head.

“Don’t look now,” he says softly, watching Clive’s eyebrows knit together in an expression of both confusion and anxiety. “But those men who . . . hurt you” –COUGH— “Have just walked in.”

Clive ducks his head, screwing his eyes up. Bob can hear his breaths getting more and more rapid and shallow; he’s clearly panicking. Jed can hear too; his grip on Clive’s hand getting stronger.

“Calm down, Clive,” Bob says, desperately trying to suppress a cough as he doesn’t want to draw attention to their table. He doesn’t manage it, and ends up clamping his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. Luckily, the gang don’t notice. “I’ll sort it out.”

Clive doesn’t look like he believes him, but Bob still gets to his feet, patting Clive’s arm as he does so.

Coughing, Bob hurries up to the bar and says, with a sense of urgency, says to the man behind the bar, “Can you please call the” –COUGH— “Police?”

The man looks alarmed, almost dropping the empty pint glass he’s holding. “What?”

“Those men by the” –COUGH— “Door, they attacked my friends—” He gestures to the table where Jed and Clive are sat, coughing again. “— last night.” He coughs, and looks at the man, hoping he’ll understand, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do otherwise, because he can’t let these bastards go free for what they did to his best friends.

The man looks over at Jed and Clive’s backs, clearly seeing the crutches on the floor, and then over at the men, who have now settled down at the table closest to the door, all of them talking and laughing far too loud for Bob’s liking.

“Did your mates report them to the police last night?” He asks.

Bob nods. “Yes, I believe they did.”

The man smiles slightly. “Sure, then, I’ll go do that.”

And he turns around and rushes out of the door at the side of the bar.

Relived, Bob goes back to Jed and Clive. He sits down, and smiles at him.

“The police should be” –COUGH— “on their way.” He says, surprised to find himself shaking.

Jed and Clive both smile at him, but they both look terrified, and, considering what those men did to them, he doesn’t blame them.

\---

To Bob’s immense relief, it only takes ten minutes for the police to arrive. A police van pulls up outside and five officers get out and enter the pub. The gang seem to realise that they are here for them, and hurriedly get to their feet, but the officers are faster.

Even though Bob thinks they should stay hidden, Clive and Jed turn around in their seats and look at the men, who are now surrounded by the police officers. The gang must see Jed and Clive looking at them, because their eyes all widen, and then they all look even angrier.

“Jed, Clive . . .” Bob whispers warningly, but he can tell they already know from the way they’re both shaking.

One of the five men suddenly pulls free from the policeman’s grip, and rushes towards their table, yelling, “I’ll fucking kill you, you snitching queer bastards!”

Jed and Clive spin around and look at Bob, who is suddenly out of his seat and rushing to stand so he is blocking his friends from a man who is surely about to beat them up all over again. The man has reached him, and although he looks primed to hit Bob in the face, Bob doesn’t move.

“Get the hell away” –COUGH— “from my friends,” he says in a low whisper.

The man swings his fist back, and Bob tenses up, expecting a punch. But, the next thing he knows, the police officers are restraining the man and putting him in handcuffs. Bob thanks the police officers, and then the officers lead the handcuffed gang out onto the pavement, and into the van parked outside.

Now they are gone, Bob sees everyone in the pub breathe a sigh of relief. Bob turns around and sees Clive doubled over with his head under the table, and Jed rubbing his back. It sounds like Clive is vomiting.

“It’s all right, Clive,” Bob says, coughing. “They’re gone.”

Clive doesn’t surface; he’s clearly still vomiting. Jed smiles at Bob, still rubbing his partner’s back. Neither of them speak, but Bob knows they’re grateful.

\---                                                     

Once Clive has stopped being sick, and the police van is definitely gone from the kerbside, they decide to leave for a second, and hopefully more successful, time. Bob helps Clive walk, as he is more wobbly than ever, and he sees Jed looking like he wishes he could help.

They only have to wait a couple of minutes for the taxi Bob ordered while Clive was vomiting to arrive. They get inside, Bob and Clive having to help Jed get in without jogging his sore knee, and Bob asks for the taxi to take them to Jed and Clive’s house. The taxi driver gives Jed and Clive’s injured faces a funny look, but, thankfully, doesn’t mention it.

As the taxi drives off, Clive leans his head against the window, and sighs shakily. He and Jed are holding hands. Jed’s face is contorted in pain; they obviously did hurt his leg despite their best efforts. Bob is exhausted, but he doesn’t feel sleepy in the slightest.

Nobody speaks on the drive to Jed and Clive’s house; Jed looks like he’s falling asleep a couple of times, but he seems to be in too much pain to manage it. Half an hour later, the taxi pulls up in front of their house.

“Can you wait here?” Bob asks the driver, coughing, as he hastily grabs the back of Jed’s blazer to stop him falling headlong out of the taxi.

The driver nods, glancing out of the window as Clive grabs a giggling Jed’s hands and helps him stand on his good leg. Bob thanks him, and, picking up the crutches, follows them both out onto the pavement. He hands Jed his crutches, coughing as he inhales the smoky night-time air; someone must be having a bonfire.

“Thanks,” he says weakly.

Bob walks with his friends down their front path, and leans against the wall as Clive fumbles with the key as he unlocks the door. And then he pauses, turning to look at Bob, a weak smile on his bruised face.

“Thank you, Robert,” he says, his face going red. “For everything.”

Coughing, Bob reaches out and pats his friend’s shoulder. Jed, who is much less prudish than Clive, hops forward and gives Bob a hug. Bob pats his back.

“Thanks, Bob,” he says, and he looks a bit tearful.

He smiles. “You’re welcome.”

And then Bob takes the taxi home, hoping his friends are all right over the night.

\---

The next morning, after Bob has had a cruddy night’s sleep because he keeps worrying about his friends, he gets up, still wearing his pyjamas, and dials the number for Jed and Clive’s home phone. He coughs as the phone rings and rings, waiting for them to answer. Eventually, someone picks up.

“Hello?” It’s Clive; he sounds exhausted, but much less shaky than he did last night. He sneezes, and Bob hears him wince.

“Hi, Clive,” Bob says, coughing and making sure to keep his voice cheerful.

Before he can think of anything else to say, Bob faintly hears Jed in the background, yelling, “Who ARSE! is it, Cli?”

Clive replies with, “It’s Bob!”, before lowering his voice and, after sneezing, speaking to Bob again. “Why’re you calling, Bob?”

Coughing and suppressing a laugh after hearing Clive and Jed’s shouted conversation, Bob says, “Just wanted to check up on you.”

Bob is pretty sure that Clive is now smiling.

“Well, thanks for the call, Robert,” Clive says, sneezing, “but, unfortunately, you happen to have woken us up.”

Bob chuckles, which makes him cough. “Sorry about that.”

And then Clive’s voice softens. “But, seriously, Robert, thank you for last night.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Bob says, coughing. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Tell him I said ARSE! thank you too!” Jed yells in the background, and Clive, with a hint of laughter in his voice, repeats to Bob, “Jed says ARSE! thank you too.” Bob then hears Jed yell, “Clive!”, obviously annoyed that Clive is copying his tic, but he doesn’t sound serious.

Bob doesn’t manage to suppress his laughter this time, and he hears Clive laughing too. It is great to hear his friends acting like they usually do, at least until Clive winces, his laughter obviously hurting an injury.

Bob feels a lot better when he hangs up, knowing they are feeling better too. But he can’t help but wonder if his friends are ever going to get back to the way they were before.


End file.
